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A Peaslee Souvenir 



Occasional Verses and 
Sacred Songs 

BY 

JOHN B. PEASLEE, A. B., LL. B., Ph. D. 

Ex-Superintendent of the Public Schools 
of Cincinnati 

Author of " Thoughts and Experiences In and Out of School." 

Compiler of "Graded Selections for Memorizing," adapted 

for use at home and in school ; and of " Trees and 

Tree-planting, With Exercises and Directions 

for the Celebration of Arbor-day." 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

REUBEN PEASLEE 

MARSHALL B. PEASLEE 

REV. WM. CAREY SHEPPARD 

MRS. ANNIE (WILKISON) PEASLEE 

AND 

PROF. EDWARD S. PEASLEE 



PRINTED for the author by 

JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 

Cincinnati 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

UAN 13 1906 

Copyright Entry 
CLASS O. XXc. No. 

/ 3 3 ¥ / O 

COPY B. 



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(03 



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COPYRIGHT, I905, BY 
JOHN B. PEASLEE. 



See last paragraph in Preface. 



DEDICATION 



This little book is dedicated to the citizens op Plais- 
tow, Rockingham County, New Hampshire, in af- 
fectionate remembrance of this beautiful New 
England town, the birthplace and home 
of the childhood and youth of all 
whose verses appear in this vol- 
UME, except Mrs. Annie (Wilki- 
son) Peaslee, who was born 
near morristown, n. j., 
but was for years 
a resident of 
Plaistow. 



PREFACE 



For years I resisted the frequent importunities 
of near relatives and intimate friends to publish in 
book form the verses I had written from time to 
time. It often occurred to me that perhaps it 
might be a pleasant thing to publish a Peaslee sou- 
venir containing verses written by different mem- 
bers of the family, a number of whom are more 
gifted in writing verse than I. Finally I decided 
to do so by the publication of this little book which 
contains, besides verses of my own, those of the 
following persons : 

Mrs. Mary Peaslee Gardner, Haverhill, Mass., my 
oldest sister. 

Mr. Reuben Peaslee, my revered father. 

Mr. Marshall Bell Peaslee, attorney-at-law, Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio, my youngest brother. 

7 



8 PREFACE 

Rev. William Carey Sheppard, Rector of St. Luke's 
Church, Vancouvers, Washington, the husband of my 
youngest sister, Anna. 

Mrs. Annie (Wilkison) Peaslee, wife of my oldest 
brother, Joab Peaslee, of Plaistow, N. H. 

Prop. Edward S. Peaslee, Principal Kirby Road 
School, Cincinnati, 0., my cousin, son of my uncle James 
E. Peaslee. 

This book has been copyrighted, not, however, 

for the purpose of protecting its contents, but for 

other reasons. If any one desire to make use of 

any of the pieces contained in this volume, he is 

hereby given full privilege of doing so ; indeed, I 

shall be glad if some of these verses find a wider 

field of usefulness than is possible while contained 

between the covers of this book. 

John B. Peaslee. 



CONTENTS 



POEMS BY JOHN B. PEASLEE 

PAGE 

Advice to a Young Friend, - - - 15 

The School Flag, - 19 

The Heroes Who Rest, - - - - 21 

Adolph Strauch, - - - - 23 

In Memoriam, (a tribute to the late Charles 

Reemelin), -26 

Brevia, 28 

That City Flag, - - - - 30 

In Memoriam, (to my wife), - 32 

Converted to Jesus, - 37 

The Precious Mine, 39 

The Christian's Hope, - 41 

Mansions Above, 43 

Beautiful Shore, 45 

The Christian's Faith, 47 

9 



10 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Precious Words, 49 

In Thine Own Way, 51 

Suffer Little Children to Come Unto Me, 53 

We Eeap as We Sow, 55 

The Gates Ajar, ___--- 57 

POEMS BY MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

Memory, ------- 61 

Baby is King, 64 

Under the Snow, ----- 66 

Only Lent Not Given, - - - - 69 

Faith, ------- 71 

If You Ask Him While Believing, - 73 

Over Again, 75 

Down by the Bars, - - - - 77 

'Neath the Maple-Tree, - - - 79 

Life and the Seasons, - 82 

To Meet With Our Dead, 83 

Decoration-Day, 85 

Tears, - 87 

Driftwood Sketches, - 89 



CONTENTS 11 

PAGB 

The Church-Bells, 91 

Sentinels of Summer, - - -- - 93 

A Knot of Friendship, 95 

"District Number Four," ... 97 

Freedman's Lament on Death of Lincoln, 100 

To a Young Friend, - 102 

Merimack Kiyer, ----- 103 

Charity for All Mankind, - - - 105 

By Kenoza's Wooded Shore, - - - 107 

Lines Written in an Autograph Album, 110 

It May Haye Been I Loyed Too Well, - 111 

Lines Written on the Planting of a Cen- 
tennial Tree in Plaistow, N. H., - 113 

The Dedication of the Flag, - - - 115 

The Old Peaslee Garrison-House, - 119 

April in the Country, - 122 

Little Brown Betsey, - 124 

Alice and the Bluebird, - 127 

The Wild Kose, 129 

Fifty Cents a Day, - 132 

Sliding Down the Hill, - - - 134 



12 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

POEMS BY REUBEN PEASLEE 

The Album, 136 

Ouk Sabbath-Schools, - - - - 138 

POEMS BY MARSHALL B. PEASLEE 

Doubt, -------- 140 

Castle in Spain, 143 

The Princess and the Pauper, - - 164 

POEMS BY REV. WILLIAM CAREY SHEPPARD. 
Ode to Daniel Webster, - 150 

A Long Betrothment, - - - - 153 

June, ------- 155 

Bloody Joe's Easter Celebration, - - 156 

POEMS BY MRS. ANNIE (WILKISON) PEASLEE 
The Faithful Mother's Prayer, - - 161 
My Picture, 165 

POEMS BY PROF. EDWARD S. PEASLEE 
The Village Church, - 168 

Memories of Boyhood, - - - 176 



Occasional Poems 



Advice to a Young Friend 1 

ON THE TWENTY-FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF HIS BIRTH 

Through years of youth you longed to see 

This manhood day of life : 
O that the future years might be 

As free from care and strife! 

With manhood, cares and trials come, 

And griefs accumulate ; 

And this has been since birth of man 

The universal fate. 
15 



16 ADVICE TO A YOUNG FRIEND 

But when to you misfortunes come, 
Bear them with royal will ; 

Yield not though they severe may be, 
Assert your manhood still ! 

The pious faith of fellow-man 
Ne'er ridicule, dear friend ; 

For noble life and happiness, 
May on that faith depend. 

"We walk in darkness here below ; 

Then scoff not nor condemn — 
Man's trust in God and future life 

The flood will often stem. 

Four principles to policy 
Ne'er sacrifice, dear friend ; 

If thus you do, you will but rue 
Your action in the end. 



ADVICE TO A YOUNG FRIEND 17 

And you will lose that self -respect, — 

That purity of heart, 
With which a man of sterling worth 

Can ne'er afford to part. 

Besides, dear Fred, you '11 sacrifice 

Opinions good of friends ; 
For character once lost and gone 

One ne'er can make amends. 

"No motto is more clearly true — 

Go, carry it about — 
Than word in sacred Scripture found. 

Man's sins will find him out. 

Be true, be honest, and be just, 

Sincere, until the end, 
Then surely you will nothing do 

Your friends can not defend. 

2 



18 ADVICE TO A YOUNG FRIEND 

Then can you view a life well-spent, 
A life both pure and true, 

The best of earth's inheritance 
For those who follow you. 

May full returns of natal day, 
Be yours on earth below ; 

And faithful friends and relatives 
On you their love bestow ! 

And may you then lie down at last, 
When scenes of time are o'er, 

In happy, and consoling trust — 
In life for evermore! 



The School Flag 1 

We should endeavor to inspire the youth of 
our country with patriotism— with a fervent and 
abiding love of the free institutions of America, 
and of the flag of the grandest Nation that ever 
rose to animate the hopes of civilized man. 

From every schoolhouse in the land, N 

O let the flag of Union wave, 
And float aloft on every breeze, 

Above the heads of children brave ! 
From Northern bound to Southern gulf, 

From Eastern strand to Western shore, 

Unite around that dear old flag 

The hearts of children, evermore. 
19 



20 THE SCHOOL FLAG 

Inspire Columbia's gallant youth 

With fervor for their native land, 
That when they reach man's proud estate, 

They '11 nobly by her colors stand, 
And guard her safe from every foe 

Of equal rights and freedom's cause ; 
And keep for aye, inviolate, 

Her Constitution and her laws. 

Chorus. 

Unfurl on high that banner bright, 

Fond emblem of our country's glory. 
And teach the children of our land 

Its grand and wondrous story : 
Of how, in early times, it waved 
High o'er the Continentals brave, 
Who fought and made this country free — 
The one true home of liberty. 



The Heroes Who Rest 8 

an ode; for decoration-day 

Tune—" Portuguese Hymn. " 

The heroes who rest in their valiancy here 
Shall e'er be enshrined in our memories dear ; 
The j volunteered all for our country's true cause, 
And fell on the field while defending her laws. 

Their names are enrolled in the lists of the brave, 

Who fought for the Union, our Nation to save ; 

The cause that they fought for, the rights they 

maintained, 

Shall aye through the ages be proudly proclaimed. 

21 



22 THE HEROES WHO REST 

Their valor shall be, to the youth of our land, 
Incentive for freedom and Union to stand. 
In honor of them, as the years roll around, 
We '11 garland with flowers each hallowed mound. 

Thus honoring them, we anew consecrate 
Our lives and our fortunes to Nation and State, 
And show ourselves worthy to ever be free — 
The sons and the daughters of sweet Liberty. 



Adolph Strauch 4 

Great gard'ner of the West, 
By thy consummate art 

A graveyard, cold and drear, 
Was changed into a park. 

Spring Grove's thy monument v 

Most beautiful of earth, 

Thy marv'lous talents gave 

Its wondrous beauty birth. 
23 



24 ADOLPH STRAUCH 

Thou, true to nature formed 
Its vistas, groups of trees, 

Its grottoes, knolls, and dells, 
Bright streams and mimic seas. 

Park cemeteries are 

Original with thee ; 
Where'er their scen'ries charm 

Thy monuments shall be. 

Thy teacher, Nature was ; 

Thy implements, her trees, 
Her grass and vines and shrubs ; 

All living plants that please. 

Thy work was not confined 
To "cities of the dead; " 

In other landscape scenes 
Thy master mind is read. 



ADOLPH STRAUCH 25 

Marks of thy skill abound 

In Eden's sylvan groves, 
On Clifton's leafy heights 

"Where'er the rambler roves. 

The people of our land, 

And hosts beyond the sea, 
Owe debts of gratitude, 

Great Nature's child, to thee. 

Forsaken, cursed, despised, 
When thou, O Strauch, began 

To make an Eden fair 
This sepulcher of man, 

Thy name 's now graven on 

Our city's honor scroll, 
To shine forever bright 

On that immortal roll. 



In Memoriam 5 

A TRIBUTE TO THE I,ATE CHARGES REEMEUN 

He rests. And what know ye of death ? That 
form, 

The clay man, whom ye knew is all that lies 
Within the silent tomb — beyond the storm, 

Beyond the glittering stars ; where mystic dyes 
Blend with the evening skies, his spirit roams 
Where many mansions be, and many homes. 

Philosopher and sage, replete in years — 

The stalwart champion of the truth — he stood; 

For worth admired, a chief among his peers, 
A bnilder he for human weal and good, 

Firm as the hills of his adopted land 

Did he in State and City Council stand. 

26 



CHARLES REEMELIN 27 

Ohio's constitution, bold in thought, 

Reflects his wisdom, and in word and plan 

It shows us where a master-mind has wrought 
An ideal of the brotherhood of man — 

And better that than granite shaft for him, 

For storms in time make granite shafts grow dim. 

The Boys' Industrial School lay near his heart, 
Among the Hocking hills they bless his name ; 

The wayward one reclaimed, who makes a start 
For better living adds but to his fame. 

He 's great who leaves his impress on the State, 

And Reemelin was a man most truly great. . 

So, when the clay man sank to rest, the soul 
Of Reemelin took its flight, and who shall say 

"What his reward was, or his final goal? 

But judging from the smile that seemed to play 

Upon his face, we cry with one accord : 

' ' "Well done', ' ' must have been whispered by his 
Lord. 



Brevia 

There 's but a step 'twixt life and death,« 

There 's but a smile — a tear, 
There 's but a thought, there 's but a breath- 
Eternity is here. 



'T is the cement of Love that binds 

All virtues firm together. 
'Tis love that braves and knows no fear 

In every kind of weather. 
Honor, justice, truth — all these 

Are born of love, and ever — 

The incentive powers that 

Move us to high endeavor. 
28 



B RE VIA 

Plant beautiful trees 

In name of those 
Whose memory you revere. 

More beautiful still 
Will they become 

With each revolving year. 



The "old mill pond," Kenoza Lake, 
And woods of Brandy-brow, 

The favored haunts of boyhood days, 
Are dear to memory now. 



That City Flag* 

The fad was a-growing, 
Friends were a- crowing 

Over its worth. 
But judges a- doubting, 
Set some a-shouting 
"Who said : 

Of value dearth. 

But soon reassembling, 

The judges a-trembling 

Made the award. 
30 



THAT CITY FLAG 31 

The people a-seeing 
The thing in being, 
Condemned 
With one accord. 

It near "died a-borning" 
The self- same morning 

That gave it birth ; 
Soon went a-shimmering, 
Faint a-glimmering, 
Unwept 

From off the earth. 

Friends, do n't go a-groaning, 
Nor get a-moaning ; 

Heave not a sigh, 
For the " Star-spangled Banner 55 
In worthy manner 
Is still 

A-waving high. 



In Memoriam 

TO MY WIFE 8 

My dearest one, you left me here, 

One weary year ago ; 
The tears of love that then broke forth 

Have never ceased to flow. 



Yes, dearest one, you left me here — 

Sad, weary, and alone; 
No honors that the world can give 

Can for thy loss atone. 
32 



IN MEMORIAM 33 

My depth of grief no one can know 

But Him who dwells above, 
Who holds and keeps and blesses thee 

In His eternal love. 



To-day I come, with saddened heart, 
But to commune with thee ; 

To strew sweet flowers o'er thy grave, 
And thee, in spirit, see. 

0, couldst thou call me to thyself 

I 'd give my life — my all ; 
But I must wait while o'er my way 

Thy blessings gently fall. 

And when beside thy lowly grave 

I come to weep alone, 
I feel I 'm nearer, love, to thee 

And to my Father's throne. 
3 



Sacred Songs 



Converted to Jesus 

Tttnb— " Portuguese Hymn." 

Converted to Jesus ! O blessed the day, 
When darkness and doubting were banished away, 
When joy in a New Life of Faith was begun 
In works of devotion to God and His Son. 

Converted to Jesus ! O precious the thought, 

Obeying the Truth that our Savior has taught, 

Of .following Him who alone can us save, 

In land of immortals beyond the dark grave. 

37 



38 CONVERTED TO JESUS 

Converted to Jesus ! wondrous the Love 
That centers our hopes on the Kingdom above, 
And opens the way to that Heavenly home, 
Whence ransomed from sin we shall nevermore 
roam. 

Converted to Jesus ! O marv'lous the deed, 
Redemption through Christ of poor mortals in 

need; 
Salvation is free and is offered to all 
"Who, trusting His promise, on Jesus shall call. 



The Precious Mine 9 

Tune—" Dundee.'' 

The Bible is a precious mine, 

Rich veins in ev'ry part; 
The way to strike its sacred veins, 

Is through a contrite heart. 

The treasures God hath stored therein, 

More precious are than gold, 

Or riches of all earthly mines, 

More dear, a thousand fold. 
39 



40 THE PRECIOUS MINE 

Come, sinner, join God's toilers here, 
And work this blessed mine, 

And all the treasures found within, 
Shall be forever thine. 

The Holy Spirit, Heavenly Light, 

Illumes each Bible lode, 
And Christ each faithful toiler brings 

To His divine abode. 



The Christian's Hope 10 

In all life's cares and sorrows. 



One hope illumes my breast : 
The faith I '11 joy forever, 
With Christ in hallowed rest ; 

That He will meet me yonder, 

All wreathed in smiles of love, 

And take me to the mansion 

Prepared for me above. 
41 



42 THE CHRISTIAN'S HOPE 

I '11 know no care nor sorrow 
When in that land of bliss ; 

For I shall have beside me 
The Lord I love in this. 

How sweet, and O how precious 
Is faith in Christ, our Lord, 

Who grants to all salvation 
That trust His sacred Word ! 



Mansions Above" 

Tune—" Seeking for Me," by Bliss. 

Over the river to the beautiful shore, 
" Christian" safe passed to the life evermore; 
Jesus, "The Shepherd Good," guided him there, 
Safe in His care. 

Kefrain — Safe in His care, His care ; 

Safe in His care, His care ; 

Jesus, "The Shepherd Good," guided him there, 

Safe in His care, His care. 
43 



44 MANSIONS ABOVE 

Ransomed by grace of our Father above, 
Sharing the bliss of ineffable love. 
' ' City of God ' ' will he ever enjoy ; 
Ever enjoy, enjoy. 

Refrain — Ever enjoy, enjoy ; 
Ever enjoy, enjoy ; 
"City of God" will he ever enjoy, 
Ever enjoy, enjoy. 

Come, let us follow in "Christian's " safe lead. 
Worship the Lord in true spirit and deed ; 
Then shall we have, in that City of Love, 
Mansions above, above. 

Refrain — Mansions above, above; 
Mansions above, above; 
Then shall we have, in that City of Love, 
Mansions above, above. 



Beautiful Shore 

Many are they on that beautiful shore, 
Pilgrims at rest in the life evermore, ; 
Jesus, the Pilot true, guided them there, 
Safe in the barque that is under his care. 

Choktjs. 

Beautiful shore ! 

Beautiful shore ! 

Mansions above on that beautiful shore. 
45 



46 BEAUTIFUL SHORE 

Ransomed by grace of our Father above, 
Sharing the bliss of ineffable Love ; 
' ' City of God ' ' will they ever enjoy, 
Freed from all care and from sorrow's annoy. 

Come, let ns follow them, safe is their lead, 
Worship the Lord, in true spirit and deed ; 
Then shall we have, when this life is no more, 
Mansions above on that beautiful shore. 



The Christian's Fatth 

Tune—" There is a Fountain," by I«owell Mason. 

For all the world I would not lose 

My faith in Thee, O Lord ; 
For all the world I would not part, 

With Jesus and thy Word. 
For all the world I would not live 

Rebellious to thy will ; 

Though all mankind should Thee forsake, 

I '11 bide with Jesus still. 
47 



48 THE CHRISTIAN'S FAITH 

For when my parting hour shall come, 

I know Thou' It take me home, 
To dwell among Thy sainted host, 

Near to Thy gracious throne ; 
And when this world is wrecked in years, 

My spirit made divine, 
i l Shall flourish in immortal youth ' ' 

Beyond the bounds of time. 



Precious Words 

Come unto me, the Lord hath said, 

And I will give you rest. 
O mortal, heed Christ's precious words, 

And be forever blest ! 

Refrain. 

Precious words ! precious words ! 
O mortal, heed Christ's precious words, 
And be forever blest ! 

a 49 



50 PRECIOUS WORDS 

My yoke is easy, burden light, 
My guerdon, lasting bliss ; 

"Wilt thou his precious words neglect 
And joys of heaven miss? 

Wilt thou His invitation slight 
For whom on earth he came, 

To save from all-consuming sin 
And pardon in His name? 

"Wilt thou the very daylight burn 
And live in darkness here, 

"When God hath sent His only Son 
To lighten and to cheer? 



In Thine Own Way 

Tune—" Anvern," by Lowell Mason. 

We walk in darkness here below, 
'Tis sin, O Lord, that makes it so; 
O wash away our sins, we pray, 
And make the darkness bright as day. 

In thine own way we long to come, 
In thine own time prepare for home ; 
Thy Gospel points the way to take, 
And we will follow for Thy sake. 
51 



52 IN THINE OWN WAY 

Impart to us Thy love divine, 

That all we are may, Lord, be thine ; 

Create in us a spirit pure 

That we may love Thee more and more. 

So shall we joy in Thee above, 
Where all is restful, all is love ; 
Where naught is wrong, but all is right, 
And ev'ry thought a pure delight. 



Suffer Little Children to Come Unto Me 

Matthew xix, 14 ; xviri, 1 and 2 ; xiii, 45. 

Suffer little children to come unto me," 
For of such is the kingdom of heaven, 

And forbid them not, are the words of the Lord, 
That on earth to disciples were given. 

In their midst, our Savior a little child sat, 

And except ye, he said, be forgiven, 

And as little children become, ye shall not 

Enter into the kingdom of heaven. 
53 



54 SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN 

We will teach in light of these God-given words 
Little children Christ's love and His power, 

That they may not lose while advancing in years, 
Jesus' blessing on life's early hour. 

May they keep the beautiful mandates of Christ, 
Ever follow His will and His pleasure ! 

In the faith they '11 find the Lord's kingdom above, 
That one pearl of great price as their treasure. 



We Reap As We Sow 

Tune — "Coronation," by Holden. 

Our mortal hour will soon be here, 

"We can not tarr y long ; 
Our souls will in another sphere, 

For evermore live on. 

What that immortal sphere shall be 

Our faith and works will show ; 

For in the life to come we reap 

Just as on earth we sow. 
55 



56 WE REAP AS WE SOW 

If we but sow the seeds of love 
And trust in Thee, O Lord, 

So shall we reap in lasting bliss 
The harvest of reward. 



The Gates Ajar 13 

Tune— "The Pearl of Great Price," Bliss. 

Beyond the stars, at gates ajar, 
My Savior waits for me ; 

May I prepare to meet Him there, 
To joy eternally ! 

Refrain. 

Beyond the stars, at gates ajar, 

My Savior waits for me — 
And there beyond, at gates ajar, 

He also waits for thee. 

57 



58 THE GATES AJAR 

From His high throne beyond the stars 
He bends him down in love ; 

To pardon all who on Him call, 
To fit them for above. 

And then, at last, beyond the stars, 
We '11 find our home, and there, 

In sweet accord, we '11 serve the Lord 
His love and life we '11 share. 



Poems 



BY 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER, 

MR. REUBEN PEASLEE, 

MR. MARSHALL B. PEASLEE, 

REV. WILLIAM CAREY SHEPPARD, 

MRS. ANNIE (WILKISON) PEASLEE, 

AND 

PROF. EDWARD S. PEASLEE 



Memory 

BY MRS. MARY PF,ASI,EE GARDNER 

The flowers that blossom in the spring 

May wither in a day; 
The friends we love in early youth, 

Like them, soon fade away. 
But every spring the buds revive, 

And with flowers deck the plain ; 
So memory, the spring of life, 

Brings back our youth again. 
61 



62 MEMORY 

As in the midst of winter's gloom 

We hail the tiny flower, 
So in the winter of our life, 

When dreary grows the hour, 
We hail with joy each tiny bud 

That bursts from memory's wreath, 
And bids us smile, nor dare to think 

This world a barren heath. 

The fire is blazing on the hearth, 

As in the days of yore; 
And 'mid glad scenes of joy and mirth, 

Our dear ones live once more. 
We sing again the olden song 

We have not sung for years; 
And as the sweet notes we prolong, 

We wake to silent tears; 

Yet know 't is but in memory 
We meet — for they have fled — 



MEMORY 63 

They whom we most would wish to see 
Have long — long years been dead. 

0, happy scenes of bygone days! 
Your charms I still revere ! 

And deep within my heart give praise 
To memories ever dear. 



Baby is King 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI<EE GARDNER 

Rock-a-bye baby ! This is the lay 
Zephyrs are wafting over the way. 
. Little one, Hark you ! God help me to be 

All he intended, and more, unto thee. 
Rock-a-bye baby ! Help mother to sing, 
You are her sweetheart — her baby and king ! 

Rock-a-bye baby ! Softly I pray 

Heaven to help me to point out the way, 

Guide you and keep you, my own little one, 

Safe from all harm till life's battle be done. 

Rock-a-bye baby ! Help mother to sing, 

You are her sweetheart — her baby and king. 
64 



BABY IS KING 65 

Eock-a-bye baby ! Nothing to fear ; 

No one will harm you for mother is near ; 

Sleeping so sweetly, ah ! what would I do, 

Darling, were angels to beckon for you? 
Eock-a-bye baby ! Help mother to sing, 
You are her sweetheart — her baby and king. 



Kock-a-bye baby ! Father in heaven, 
Spare me the lesson of "lent, but not given." 
Leave me my baby boy — leave him with me ; 
Help me to bring him, my Savior, to Thee ! 
Eock-a-bye baby ! Help mother to sjng, 
You are her sweetheart — her baby and king. 
5 



Under the Snow 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI,EE GARDNER 

Away with the vision ! 

My spirit would weave 
No dreams of elysian 

On this Christmas eve ; 
The fond hopes I cherished 

But one year ago 
Have cruelly perished — 

Out, under the snow. 



UNDER THE SNOW 67 

The eyes that beamed brightest, 

Their fires have fled ; 
The heart that beat lightest 

Is pulseless and dead ; 
The smile that I needed, 

The notes sweet and low, 
Of counsel I heeded — 

Lie under the snow. 

My spirit is broken 

By death's awful power; 
No words can be spoken 

To brighten the hour ; 
A grave they have made him, 

He knows naught of woe, 
And calmly they 've laid him — 

Out, under the snow. 

Who say that they care not? 
"When cold is the breath, — 



68 UNDER THE SNOW 

They know not and share not 
The ruins of death. 

Their lives are not shaded, 
They 've felt not the blow 

Where bright hopes have faded- 
Out, under the snow. 

Joy 's left me forever, 
This world is so cold; 

On earth I will never 
My loved ones behold ; 

But why all this weeping? 
What recks all this woe? 

There is peace for the sleeping- 
Out, under the snow. 



"Only Lent Not Given" 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI^E GARDNER 

Alone ! It was but yesterday 

She sat upon my knee, 
And every corner of the house 

Echoed her childish glee. 
Alone ! And I had called her mine 

Until one April even; 

I felt within my heart a sign, 

'Twas, "Only lent, not given. " 
69 



70 ONLY LENT NOT GIVEN 

I 'd often in a careless way 

Fretted o'er broken toys, 
And I had wished that very day 

She 'd play without a noise. 
I little thought at night to kneel 

So close the gates of heaven, 
Where death stood waiting to reveal, 

The ' ' Only lent, not given. ' ' 

She waked not at the morrow's dawn 

Though brightly beamed the sun ; 
Her soul to fairer worlds had gone 

Ere this was scarce begun. 
I can not tell you why or how 

Earth's dearest ties are riven; 
I 've simply learned that hearts must how 

To u Only lent, not given." 



Faith 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI.EE GARDNER 14 

Faith is the key that unlocks the door 

To mansions built above, 
The barque that safely bears us o'er 

To realms of endless love. 
It is the beacon-light that streams 

Far down life's thorny way, 
With rays of hope it brightly beams 

Throughout the darkest day. 

Faith is the hinge on which the gate 

'Twixt life and death is swinging; 

Creating love that conquers hate, 

It sets our hearts to singing. 
71 



72 FAITH 

When hard against life's rugged shore 
Our hopes are rudely driven, 

Its voice pleads, Live, live on once more — 
Thy sins shall be forgiven. 

Faith is the touch of angel hands 

We feel, but never see ; 
That guides us through the unknown lands 

Of death's dark mystery. 
A rainbow in our hearts it lies ; 

By it we're made to see 
A reflex of God's paradise — 

Life's crown — death's victory. 



If You Ask Him While Believing 

BY MRS. MARY PBASIvEE GARDNER 

He will help you with life's lessons of to-day, 

Help you treasure up the blessings on your way. 
He will bear your cares and crosses, 
Lighten all your griefs and losses 

So that sunshine and not shadow 

Shall around your pathway play. 

Refrain. 

If you ask Him while believing, 

If you love Him every day? 

A bright crown of life you 're weaving, 

That shall be your own for aye. 
73 



74 IF YOU ASK HIM WHILE BELIEVING 

He will help you care for others day by day, 

Help you guide the erring brothers on their way 
Help you with the ' ' old, old story 
Of your Father's home in glory." 

"When you 're weary, give you courage ; 

When you 're troubled, help you pray. 

He will help you do your duty day by day, 
Making life one line of beauty all the way ; 

He will help you love the Giver, 

Follow in His teachings ever, 
So a crown for you '11 be waiting 
That will la6t from aye to aye. 



Over Again 

BY MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

Over again, over again, 
Who would not live life over again? 
If only to right the things that were wrong, 
To making of this life a beautiful song ; 
Guarding the thoughts that would brighten 

the gloom, 

As from the cradle we haste to the tomb. 
75 



76 OVER AGAIN 

Over again, over again, 
Who would not live life over again? 
If just for a heart as pure and as free 
As when we knelt down at mother's dear knee, 
Lisping our first prayers and feeling the joy 
Born of child-faith and untouched by alloy. 

Over again, over again, 
Ah ! who would live life over again? 
A smile and a tear, a word and a sigh, 
When ready to live — the time comes to die. 
Ah, it would be a most cruel refrain 
Could we but live our lives over again ! 



Down by the Bars 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI.EE GARDNER 

Fond Memory, abide with me 

A little while I pray ; 
Just take me back to where I was 

One year ago to-day. 

Down by the bars 'neath twinkling stars 

I did not woo in vain, 
The story 's old, bnt it was told 

Again, and yet again. 

77 



78 DOWN BY THE BARS 

I called her mine long ere that time, 
Yet thought she ne'er might be; 

I had no way by which to say 
My love remembered me. 

I could not tell of that sweet spell, 

When life is so divine ; 
Nor would I miss love's first fond kiss, 

Tho' all the world be mine. 

One year ago, how could I know 
That such my fate would be? 

Beyond the stars, at gates ajar, 
My love now waits for me. 



'Neath the Maple-Tree 

BY MRS. MARY P^ASIv^E GARDNER 

There were four little boys 'neath the maple- tree, 10 

Just as merry as boys can be : 

They were John and Joe and Will and Dan — 

Whistling and shouting as only boys can ; 

Down in the meadow, over the hill ; 

Now in the brook that runs by the mill ; 

Watching the nest that the mother-bird leaves ; 

Out on the barn, hanging over the eaves ; 

Frightening the squirrels, chasing the bee ; 

Playing jacks 'neath the shade of the maple-tree. 

79 



80 'NEATH THE MAPLE-TREE 

There were four little boys by a mother's knee, 

Just as tired as boys can be : 

With half-spoken words their prayers are said ; 

With a single bound they are snug in bed. 

Four curly heads on pillows of white ; 

Four childish voices shout, < ' Mother, good-night ! ' ' 

The angel of 6leep hushes all of the noise ; 

The mother- voice murmurs, "O God, keep my 
boys!" 

And an echo low of "And so may it be !" 

Comes back through the leaves of the old maple- 
tree. 



There are four empty seats 'neath the maple - 

tree, 
Worn and battered as they can be. 
With cold, gray moss, Time has mottled them 

o'er; 
But the four little boys — we see them no more. 



y NEATH THE MAPLE-TREE 81 

Gone ! for the world has claimed four earnest men. 
Needed were they, yet the time will come when 
They '11 care not for riches, for fame, or for 

power — 
They '11 wish for their child-faith just for an hour, 
When they were as happy as happy could be, 
Under the shade of the old maple-tree. 



Life and the Seasons 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI,EE GARDNER. 

Spring is childhood's happy span 

As pure as it is brief ; 
Summer crowns the boy a man ; 

While autumn turns the leaf 
Writ upon whose fading page 
Is Winter — Winter and Old age ! 

Springtime calls for buds and flowers : 

Summer basks in golden hours ; 

Autumn rolls in ripening sheaves ; 

Winter gleans what autumn leaves ; 

While the Reaper Death spares neither friend 

nor foe — 

He lays life and the seasons low. 

82 



To Meet with Our Dead 

BY MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

The way it is dark; 

But God rules above: 
He governs our barque 

With infinite love; 
And if it be sunshine 

Or clouds overhead, 
It is pleasure divine 

To meet with our dead. 
83 



84 TO MEET WITH OUR DEAD 

Then why are we sad? 

To all He gives rest, 
The heart shall grow glad 

In the land of the blest. 
It is Life, and not death, 

The good angels shed, 
When they silence the breath 

To meet with our dead. 



Decoration Day 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI^EE GARDNER 

Strew the graves with lovely flowers, 
Strew them where the heroes sleep; 

Lightly tread, the spot is hallowed, 
Angels here their vigils keep. 

Heard you not the cry of battle 
As it sounded through the land? 

Saw you not the starry banner 
Borne by our most noble band? 
85 



86 DECORATION DAY 

But, alas! that band was shattered — 
Some sleep 'neath the Southern sod, 

Far away from scenes of childhood, 
But their spirits are with God. 

Others rest here, where the loved ones 

Oft can go at set of sun, 
Strewing flowers in sweet remembrance 

Of the many deeds they Ve done. 

Those that far away are sleeping, 
Will no loved hand mark the spot? 

Leave but one — one little flower, 
Just to know they 're not forgot. 

Strew the flowers, the lovely flowers, 
Strew them where the heroes sleep; 

Lightly tread, the spot is hallowed, 
Angels here their vigils keep. 



Tears 

BY MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

"What 's a tear? — It is a treasure 
That lies deep in every pleasure, 
Buried now neath mirth and laughter, 
To come back some moment after. 
Tears are gathered 'mid bright hours, 
Like the dewdrops from the flowers — 
To descend, like dews of Heaven, 
In the dusky shades of even. 
87 



88 TEARS 

From this day's dark clouds of sorrow 
Tears may fall; but on the morrow 
Every heart must cease repining, 
For the sun will then be shining. 
0, the Tears! so pure and holy, 
Shed by Him, the meek and lowly, 
When upon the Cross He gave us — 
Life itself — that He might save us! 



Driftwood Sketches 

BY MRS. MARY PEASIyEE GARDNER 

Sitting by the fireside, 

Rocking to and fro; 
While the dusky shadows 

Slowly come and go — 

Bringing back life's pictures,, 
Till the hours grow late, 

Sketched on bits of driftwood 
By the hand of fate. 

Some are gems from childhood- 
Some are just a blot; 

Other time-worn sketches 
I had 'most forgot. 



90 DRIFTWOOD SKETCHES 

One there is, my darling 
(Of a twilight gray), 

"When you told love's story 
In your own sweet way. 

Loving arms about me, 
Dear lips pressed to mine; 

Dark eyes beaming softly 
With love's countersign. 



Sitting by the fireside — 
Embers burning low — 

Then my driftwood sketches 
Ever come and go. 

Charming bits of color, 
Gleaming here and there, 

Show these lifelong pictures 
Had a Master's care. 



The Church Bells 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI,EE GARDNER 

Loud and clear the bells are ringing, 
Calling us to church to-day; 

While their mission they are telling 
Thousands wend the heavenward way. 

And the bells keep ringing, ringing, 
Yet my spirit answers "Nay." 

Gently now the bells are ringing 
Out their music, sweet and low; 

Though I listen to their pleading, 
Still my spirit answers "No." 

And the bells keep ringing, ringing, 
In the church tower, sweet and low. 
91 



92 THE CHURCH BELLS 

Sadly now the bells are tolling 
Evermore, "It is too late;" 

Quickly now my spirit answers, 
"I am coming — only wait!" 

But the bells keep tolling, tolling, 
Evermore, "It is too late!" 



Sentinels of Summer 

BY MRS. MARY P3ASI.ES GARDNER 

I do not mark the seasons as they come; 

But when 
The arbutus blooms in the woods, I see, 
The violet and pale anemone, — 

Then 
Do I know how soon, 'mid sun and showers, 
I '11 hail again the gladsome summer hours. 
93 



9-4 SENTINELS OF SUMMER 

I do not mark the seasons as they go; 

But when 
I see the waysides, edged with golden-rod, 
The cardinal flowers in misty lowlands nod, — 

Then 
Do I know how swift time hastens on: 
Again the flowers bloom that tell of summer 
gone. 



A Knot in Friendship 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI.EE GARDNER 

Out from many countless paths that cross life's 

weary, tangled way, 
With their burdens close about them, two sad 

hearts have met this day; 
It was only for one moment, still the brightness 

must remain, 
For they tied a Knot in Friendship, that can never 

break in twain. 

95 



96 A KNOT IN FRIENDSHIP 

Somewhere in the misty future they may meet as 

now they part, 
While a wreath of tender memories shall entwine 

about each heart; 
As they pass through life's brief changes, cheered 

by smiles or damped by tears, 
They shall keep this Knot in Friendship, as a 

pledge of other years. 

Should they heedless grow of duty; should they 

trust alone in fate; 
Still they know life's paths are many — at the end 

there 's but one gate 
Where they '11 meet when all is over — at the setting 

of the sun — 
With this simple Knot in Friendship — dearest 

guerdon life has won. 



"District Number Four" 

BY MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

When the days grow hot and dusty, 
As the sun comes scorching down; 
When my books seem dry and musty, 
Then I long to leave the town. 
Yes, I long to leave the town, when the sun comes 

scorching down, 
And I long to roam unfettered 'mid my native hills 
once more; 
Resting 'neath the tall pine trees, 
Fanned by every mountain breeze, 
And to live my school days over in old ' ' District 
Number Four." 
7 97 



98 



In my dreams I see it ever, 

The old schoolhouse 'neath the hill; 
I can see the fields and meadows 
Where we wandered at our will — 
Where we wandered at our will, hy the schoolhouse 

'neath the hill, 
And I see our dear od master, as he stands within 
the door; 
And I catch his awful frown, 
As he brings the birch-rod down 
On some truant little urchin in old " District Num- 
ber Four." 



Though he was so stern on duty, 

Yet his heart was good as gold; 
Out of school these roguish urchins 
All their troubles to him told. 
Yes, their troubles all were told to the master 
grave and old. 



u DISTRICT NUMBER FOUR" 99 

For they knew a loving heart beat — beat beneath 
the mask he wore; 
But no more may he be seen, 
For the grass is growing green 
On the grave of our dear master in old * ' District 
Number Four." 



Years may bring us added laurels, 

With a pleasure for each pain; 
But I'd rather have the sunshine 
Of my happy youth again; 
Yes, my happy youth again, with its brief, un- 
clouded reign, 
I would throw life's scepter down — down to live 
'those dear days o'er; 
When I roamed a careless boy, 
With a heart brimful of joy, 
'Mid the hills of dear New Hampshire, in old " Dis- 
trict Number Four." 



Freedman's Lament on Death of Lincoln 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

Ring out, ye bells, jour saddest strains, 
While we who once were bound in chains 
Weep over all that now remains 

Of him — our noblest friend. 
And tho' his pilgrimage be o'er, 
And he has reached the unknown shore, 
His deeds shall live for evermore 

Our rights still to defend. 

He never strove for wealth or fame ; 

He only asked for Honor's name; 

Justice and right were his sole aim 

E'en to his latest breath. 
100 



FREEDMAN'S LAMENT 101 

Then weep for him; there ne'er can be 
A truer friend to you and me 
Than this great son of Liberty 

Who sleeps the sleep of death. 

And while we now a tribute pay 

To this good man who 's passed away, 

O let us kneel to God and pray 

That he is truly blessed. 
That he who consecrated years 
To right our wrongs, to calm our fears, 
Has found beyond this vale of Tears 

A never-failing rest. 



To a Young Friend 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI,EE GARDNER 

Go forth in the world ! Thou art needed. 
Let thy watchwords be honor and love : 

Let the storms of this life pass unheeded- 
There 's a rest that awaits thee above ; 

Go forth in thy youth ! 'T is the hour 
"When the heart is unfettered and free ; 

And yield thy whole soul to the Power 
That shall make an immortal of thee ! 
102 



Merrimack River 

BY MRS. MARY PEASlyEE GARDNER 

Among New Hampshire's granite hills 

Its waters glide along ; 
Perchance one might not notice it, 

But yet I love its song. 

I love it for the happy days 

That come no more to me ; 
When oft beside those mossy banks 

I strayed in childish glee, 

While in and out, mid brakes and ferns, 

I watched its waters gleam ; 
And wondered how the clouds so high, 

Were mirrored in the stream. 
103 



104 MERRIMACK RIVER 

'T was just below the meadow bend, 

My favorite flowers grew ; 
The lily and the painted cup, 

The violets, white and blue. 

Amid the forests dark and deep 

It finds its lonely way ; 
And calmly o'er its pebbly bed, 

Flows on from day to day. 

It winds down through the Old Bay State, 

On, onward to the sea — 
My mountain stream, my Merrimack ; 

Forever dear to me. 

Then flow, flow on my mountain stream, 

Flow merrily along, 
And sing as in the days of old, 

My childhood's happy song. 



Charity for All Mankind 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

This simple rule is what we need • 
To guide our inmost thought and deed ; 
And teach us what to do and say 
"While hastening o'er life's rugged way. 
And should we in our neighbor's ways 
See more to censure than to praise, 
'T is better far to think him good, 
If we but only understood — 
Remember 't is a narrow mind, 
That makes one groove for all mankind. 
105 



106 CHARITY FOR ALL MANKIND 

Do n't think that we must have the say, 
Of what our brother does each day ; 
Or that we need a tenderer care, 
Because we have more hours for prayer ; 
Than he who toils from sun to sun 
If cheerfully his task be done. 
And if he shields his brother man, 
And helps him ev'ry way he can, 
He doeth well, and he will find 
God's greatest love is for mankind. 

Don't think to save the lives of men, 
By reaching out beyond life's ken — 
Or God has but a chosen few 
That he gives all his blessings to ; 
Or that we have the right to weigh 
The thoughts He 's molded into clay; 
'Tis ours to help the weak along, 
Nor judge if he be right or wrong — 
The simple rule for us to mind 
Is charity for all mankind. 



By Kenoza's Wooded Shore 14 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

When the sun o'er yonder hilltops sheds a last 

bright, lingering ray, 
And the shades of evening gather, telling of the 

close of day; 
When the dusky twilight shimmers with its weird 

and mystic air, 
Wraps its mantle gently 'round us, smoothing 

wrinkled brows of care ; 
Then to me there comes a vision of the days that 

are no more, 
When a happy child I wandered by Kenoza's 

wooded shore. 

107 



108 BY KENOZA'S WOODED SHORE 

Then I had a brother who would fly my kites and 

sail my boats, 
Who made whistles from the willow, taught me 

how to catch the notes 
Of the bobolink and blackbird, where to find the 

bluejay's nest; 
Where the flowers bloomed the fairest, and the 

berries were the best, 
And at eve, when work was over, underneath the 

maple-tree, 
Which my brother's hand had planted, would he 

take me on his knee. 



Far out there beyond the pine-trees, where you 

see yon setting sun, 
Oft we watched the gleaming campfires of the 

boys of sixty-one ; 
But one night he seemed more thoughtful than it 

was his wont to be 
And he drew me closer to him as I sat upon his 

knee — 



BY KENOZA'S WOODED SHORE 109 

Neither spoke. I watched the moonbeams 
through the maple branches creep 

Till upon my brother's bosom I had fallen fast 
asleep. 

While I slept the campfires faded, and my brother 
— he was gone ; 

And my mother gently soothed me as I wept that 



Years have fled, my brother sleeps, and still the 

maple by the door 
Holds for me the same dark shadows as upon that 

night it wore. 
And my mother tells a story, as I sit beside her 

knee; 
Of a soldier boy in glory who is watching over me. 



Lines Written in an Autograph Album 



MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 



Fair dreamer of life, 

In your hands you are holding 

The sealed book of Fate, may its pages be fair 

And day after day 

As its leaves are unfolding 

May it never bear record of sorrow or care. 
110 



It May Have Been I Loved Too Well 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

It may have been I loved too well 
That little child with deep-blue eyes. 
"Who knows the mystery that lies 
Beyond the gates of Paradise? 

It may have been I loved too well 
That child with tangled locks of gold, 
Whose fairy life had all been told 
Ere she was passing seven years old. 

It may have been I loved too well — 
At least that 's what the neighbors said, 
While bending o'er earth's lowly bed 
I saw them put away my dead. 
Ill 



112 IT MAY HAVE BEEN 

It may have been I loved too well, 
But He who careth for His own, 
Who knoweth every look and tone, 
'Tis He who '11 judge each heart alone. 
And it may be — but who shall tell 
A mother that she 's loved too well? 



Lines Written on the Planting of a Cen- 
tennial Tree in Plaistow, N. H. 15 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI<EE GARDNER 

Let Freemen shout to-day ! 
A noble tribute pay 

To that brave band, 
Who long, long years ago 
Laid every tyrant low, 
Caused peace and joy to flow 
O'er our fair land. 
8 113 



114 PLANTING OF A CENTENNIAL TREE 

Swell loud each welcome note. 
High let the banners float 

On Freedom's day ! 
Banners that still shall be 
Honored by all the free 
Far over land and sea, 

Ever and aye. 

Here, on this sacred spot 
Where we shall be forgot, 

Long live this tree ; 
Long may its branches wave 
A dirge to those who gave 
Life for the silent grave 

And Liberty. 



The Dedication of the Flag 16 

BY MRS. MARY PEASEEE GARDNER 

The old church-bell of childhood days, 

I 've always loved to hear, 
Has sounded forth the ' ' Welcome Home ! ' ' 

To friends, both far and near. 

The ladies of the V. I. S. 

In such an urgent way, 
Have asked for all who love this town 

To meet them here to-day. 

So I have thrown my work aside, 

And hastened back again 
To olden scenes, — but all is changed, 

I scarce know how or when. 
115 



116 THE DEDICATION OF THE FLAG 

As through the little village streets 

I wander up and down, 
I find I am a stranger in 

My own dear native town. 

The loving friends I used to know, 
In those dear days of yore, 

Are gone — and few remember me 
Of District Number Four. 

The spot where we were wont to play 

At game of bat and ball, 
The town-house of the olden days, 

That looked so quaint and small, 

Have vanished, and instead we see 
A hall, both great and grand, 

That holds to-day of young and old 
The proudest in the land. 

For one of our own Plaistow boys, 
With love of country rare, 

Has given us the Stars and Stripes 
To float o'er Pollard Square. 



THE DEDICATION OF THE FLAG 117 

Then fling the banner to the breeze 

And join us, all who may, 
For we belong to old Plaistow 

And this, her gala day. 

And while the band plays "Home, Sweet 
Home ' ' 

The sun comes smiling down ; 
We '11 give three cheers for the dear old flag 

And three for our native town. 

And when the village bell rings in 

The one day of the free 
Be sure you float the Stars and Stripes, 

Emblem of liberty. 

And when another year shall bring 

The saddest day of all — 
In memory of the boys in blue 

"Who answered duty's call, 

Half-mast the flag shall droop and sway, 

And muffled drums shall beat, 
As first a handful of brave men 

Came marching up the street, 



118 THE DEDICATION OF THE FLAG 

Their comrades' graves to strew with flowers 

On Decoration-day. 
A prayer, a tear, — then raise the flag 

To cheer their homeward way. 

Remember that our country's flag 

Is all that 's good and true, 
And wheresoe'er your feet may stray 

It watches over you. 

And now, dear friends, I '11 say good-bye, 

The hour is drawing near 
"When I must leave these olden scenes, 

To memory ever dear. 

And when I answer to the call 

To lay my burdens down, 
May heaven's blessings rest upon 

My own dear native town. 



The Old Peaslee Garrison-House 17 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI.EE GARDNER 

"When arbutus buds and flowers 
Wake the train of summer hours, 
Then I love to take the river path that leads on to 
the sea, 
Past the old house drear and lonely, 
Built by loving hearts that only 
Sought to save from redmen's vengeance, 
Life and Home and Liberty, 
As the mother rocked the cradle with a flintlock 
by her knee. 

119 



120 THE OLD PEASLEE GARRISON-HOUSE 

In the days so filled with danger 
Home it was to friend and stranger, 

As they knelt here by its altar, breathed the prayer 
"Thy will be done! " 
'T is a monument of duty, 
In its weird and ancient beauty, 
Nor Time nor change can dim the 
Fame this olden house has won ; 

As a shield it stood 'twixt life and death, the 
Peaslee Garrison. 



Strange what startling fancies center 

'Kound the old home as I enter, 
When I hear the hinges grating as the door 
swings to and fro. 

On the hearth no fire is burning, 

Sad the lesson I am learning, 

As I watch the sunbeams dancing 

On the ceiling quaint and low, 
And my heart beats to the measure of dear ones 
long ago. 



THE OLD PEASLEE GARRISON-HOUSE 121 

I have ever loved the story 
Of the old house wreathed in glory, 
The Peaslee Garrison that sheltered the dear, brave 

hearts of old ; 
"With its stained roof bending lowly, 
With its gray walls crumbling slowly, 
And its secret cavern hidden as a miser hides 

his gold, 
With its silence still unbroken and its tragic tales 

untold. 



written for the little folks 
April in the Country 

BY MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

Merrily now the dear robin is singing 
Up in the apple-tree, over the way; 

Under our feet the green grasses are springing, 
Weaving a rug for the fair month of May — 

April, so fickle, now smiles through a tear, 

And bids us good-bye for another long year. 

Down by the brook the dear froggies are peeping, 
List, little ones, and now hear what they say: 

Wake up, sweet violet, while you were sleeping 
Winter took wings, and has flown far away — 

April, the fickle, the smiling, the teary, 

Has left a spring garment for you that is cheery. 
122 



APRIL IN THE COUNTRY 123 

Hark ! thro' the pines the South wind is singing 
Nature's sweet lullabys, plaintive and low, 

Songs of the wild birds to all it is bringing — 
Breath of the woodlands where wildflowers grow. 

April — so fickle, so cloudy; but then 
After a moment she 's smiling again. 

Up thro' the lane comes my boy with a whistle 
Made from a twig of the old willow-tree. 

His heart is as "light as the down of a thistle," 
As gayly he blows its shrill notes to me. 

April, so fickle, and showery each day, 

You 've crowned with bright flowers the fair 
Queen of the May. 



Little Brown Betsey 

MRS. MARY PEASLEE GARDNER 

' 'Brown Betsey' ' lives under the stairs, so they say, 
You 've heard of her I am quite sure ; 
A seller of peaches when neighbors sold pears, 
A driver away of the dullest of cares ; 
When peaches in plenty came in every day, 
Then little Brown Betsey went hopping away. 
124 



LITTLE BROWN BETSEY. 125 

I 've something to tell you, 't is true as can be, 
Dear little Brown Betsy 's been living with me ; 
Out in the old orchard, a-playing for hours, 
A-climbing the apple-trees, picking wild flowers; 
Her mud pies she made over there in the sun, 
She sang and she danced till her cooking was done ; 
As brimful of mischief as zephyrs that strayed 
To kiss the brown cheeks of my dear little maid ; 
When supper is over and tired of play, 
Dear little Brown Betsey would hop far away. 

One bright sunny morning she stood at the gate, 
The clock on the town-house was just striking eight ; 
She looked very sad as she said o'er and o'er, 
I 'm going to school, I can't play any more; 
Her dolls she had hidden out under the wall, 
She had fastened her kitten up in the back hall ; 
Her hair she had plaited — she looked with surprise 
When asked as to who 'd see to making mud pies. 
I then stooped and kissed her. Eo more could I say, 
As my little Brown Betsy went hopping away. 



126 LITTLE BROWN BETSEY 

After that I soon noticed Brown Betsy looked tall, 
She outgrew her dresses, her shoes were too small. 
One day she was missing. Then who do you guess 
Came courtesying to me in a very long dress — 
I asked her some questions about dolls and mud pies. 
She stood on her tiptoes and tried to look wise. 
I called for Brown Betsy, asked Where can she be? 
My lady came stealing her arms about me — 
And said ' 6 Mother, darling, remember I pray, 
Your little Brown Betsey, she 's hopped far away. " 

I love my young lady who wears a long train, 
But I wish I could see my Brown Betsy again 
With her dolls and mud pies. O, so sad was the 

day 
When my little Brown Betsey hopped far, far 

away. 



Alice and the Bluebird 

Did you see the bluebird, mamma, 

'Way up in the maple-tree? 
Did you know that he 's been singing 

All the morning long to me? 

Why! I always thought 'twas winter 
When the ground was white with snow: 

But, you see, I 've been mistaken, 
For the bluebirds surely know. 
127 



128 ALICE AND THE BLUEBIRD 

When I took my sled and mittens, 
To go sliding in the lane ; 

Such a sweet song he was singing, 
How the spring had come again. 

So I just went in the garden, 
Close beneath the window-sill, 

When I pushed the snow off lightly — 
Found this yellow daffodil. 

0, mamma, it is not winter 

When you hear the bluebird sing ! 

And the daffodils they blossom 
Only in the early spring. 



The Wild Rose 

BY MRS. MARY PKASI^EE) GARDNER 

Tiny little Wild Rose, 
Growing in the wood; 

Seeming like a goddess 
Of the solitude, 

Where the golden sunlight 
Peeps into your bed, 

And the diamond raindrops 
Scatter on your head. 
129 



130 THE WILD ROSE 

'T is n't any wonder 
That you look so sad, 

Thinking little Alice 
Must be very bad. 

Taking you so sudden — 
From your home away, 

Never stopped to let you 
Have one word to say. 

Leaf by leaf you scatter 
Down the grassy lane, 

Till the golden center's 
All that doth remain. 

Darling little Alice 
Musing, stands alone: 

' ' Grot this for my mamma, 
Now 'tis all — all gone. 



THE WILD ROSE 131 

Wonder what's the matter- 
Guess' nobody knows — 

Think some naughty fairy 
Spoiled my sweet wild rose." 



Fifty Cents a Day 

BY MRS. MARY PEASI,EE GARDNER 

Mother 's singing by-low to tlie baby now 

And Johnnie 's got the dipper, going to milk the 

cow; 
Marjorie 's got the scythe, and thinks she 's going 

to mow ; 
While father 's in the garden, seeing how things 

grow. 
But I am just so tired, I 'd rather think than play, 
For I 've been in the meadow, helping make the 

hay. 
Raking up the scatterings every pleasant day, 
Raking up the scatterings while they load the hay. 
Raking up the scatterings when I want to play, 
But father says I '11 save him fifty cents a day. 
132 



FIFTY CENTS A DAY 133 

Over in the pasture berries getting blue, 

I wish that I could eat them for an hour or two ; 

Over in the bean-patch woodchuck 's got a hole, 

I guess that I could reach him with a ten-foot pole ; 

Asked to go a-fishing only t' other day, 

But father couldn't spare me, cause he 's making 

hay. 
Raking up the scatterings every pleasant day, 
Raking up the scatterings while they load the hay, 
Raking up the scatterings when I want to play, 
But father says I '11 save him fifty cents a day. 

When the haying 's over, won't we have the fun — 
Marjorie, she '11 take Johnny, and I '11 take the 

gun. 
We will shoot a squirrel, mother '11 make a pie, 
If I will mind the baby so she will not cry. 
Rock-a-by-low baby, father he will say, 
Rather rock the cradle than to rake the hay. 
Rock-a-by-low baby all the livelong day, 
Rock-a-by-low baby 'stead of raking hay, 
Rock-a-by-low baby when I want to play, 
But mother says she '11 make me squirrel pie to- 
day. 



Sliding Down the Hill 

BY MRS. MARY P^ASI^EE GARDNER 

mekky times we're having now, 

As down the hill we go; 
For there can be no merrier sport 

Than bounding o'er the snow. 
And oft we slide for many an hour, 

We boys and girls, until 
Our fingers ache — we almost cry 

While sliding down the hill. 
134 



SLIDING DOWN THE HILL 135 

But when we see our teacher come, 

We gather round the door; 
For well we know that for a time 

Our sliding must be o'er. 
But soon completed are all tasks, 

Then with a right good will 
We go together, boys and girls, 

A-sliding down the hill. 

But soon 'twill lose its charms for us, 

As years shall onward glide; 
Yet, while it's pleasure, let us l^ave 

Full many a happy slide. 
And oft, yes oft, in years to come, 

Shall all remember still 
When we together, boys and girls 

Went sliding down the hill. 



The Album 18 



BY REUBEN PEASLEE 



Oh, value it for friendship's sake, 

Its offerings are true. 
Its silent converse will awake 

Remembrance sweet in you 
Of friends who speak from every line, 

As voices from the dead, 
And bid us hope for joys divine 

When all life's joys are fled. 
136 



THE ALBUM 137 

Tliou lovely power, Remembrance, wake — 

Here is thy sacred fane, 
Here prayers are breathed for thy dear sake, 

And are not breathed in vain. 
Then leave, O leave, a friendly line 

To speak when yon are not, 
Of early friendship's love divine 

That can not be forgot. 

Snch gifts, unlike the gems of cost, 

Grow dearer with their age. 
Nor can the blasting hand of time 

Erase them from your page. 
Here you may come in lonely hours, 

Where friendship never dies, 
And greet your friends from the sweet bowers 

Of friendship's paradise. 



Our Sabbath-Schools 

BY REUBEN PEASLEE 

[Lines written for his little daughter, Ida, to recite at her 
Sunday-school celebration, Plaistow, N. H., about 1880.] 

Otjr Sabbath-schools, our Sabbath-schools, 

How rich in heav'nly lore ! 
What wondrous hopes of bliss unfold 

To last for evermore. 

O, what a glorious work to train 

The young immortal mind 
Of youth in God and Wisdom's ways 

With all the virtues twined 

Into a bright, eternal wreath 

To deck the Christian's brow, 
Who live a life of holiness 

And keep the sacred vow. 
138 



OUR SABBATH-SCHOOLS 139 

How happy, too, who early learn 

Those Bible lessons well ! 
Which fit the young immortal soul 

With saints and God to dwell. 

Come join, dear friends, the noblest work 

To mortals ever given, 
To fit a lost and sinfnl world 

For endless rest in heav'n. 

We '11 welcome with open arms, 

We '11 watch and pray for you, 
We '11 guard and guide your infant steps 

To all that 's good and true. 

We '11 guide you on that heav'nly road 

Which all the saints have trod, 
'T will lead you to unending bliss, 

To heaven and to God. 

We want no gold nor priceless gems 

For our instruction given. 
We want your hearts in Zion's cause, 

We want your sins forgiven. 



Doubt 

BY MARSHAU, B. PEASIyBK 

The Master died, and in His grave 

The Prince of Mercy lay ; 
His life revived alone could save 

, The hapless sons of clay. 
His followers awed by Death's grim face 

Let fears their firm faith chill, 
And one chose for especial grace 

Felt even doubting still. 
140 



DOUBT 141 

The Master raised him from the dead 

His awed disciples knew 
The halo round that sacred Head, 

And felt His presence, too. 
All knew but one — the doubter yet 

The sacred soul denied, 
Till seen the marks the thorns had set 

And felt the wounded side. 

Is 't strange that now in later days 

That spirit still lives on, 
And more will follow Thomas' ways 

Than loyal, loving John? 
What boots it us to labor long 

To set a fear at rest, 
When God's own Son found doubts among 

The few that knew Him best. 

We must have faith for through that word 

Shall sceptic wanderings still, 
Though our age to godless actions stirred 

Prefers ofttimes the ill; 



142 DOUBT 

Yet still have faith, howe'er it seems 
High actions are not lame. 

A spark from God, where so it gleams, 
Shall put all donbt to shame. 

Thou mayst be one by Fate's decree 

Whom Folly's sons deride, 
"Who still believe that can not see 

Immanuel's bleeding side — 
Keep thou that trust, O soul of mine, 

Until that glorious day 
"When all shall know His Form Divine 

And doubt shall pass away. 



The Castle in Spain 



BY MARSHALI, B. PEASLSE 



[An address to Uncle Sam, written for the Grange Paper 
shortly after the battle of Manila.] 

Dear Uncle Sam, I understand 

That now, puffed up with pride, 
You mean to cross the ocean waste 

And land the other side. . 

For glorious conquest in the waj 

And to avenge the Jfaine, 
You mean to strike your enemies 

In their sunny land of Spain. 
143 



144 THE CASTLE IN SPAIN 

I 'm with you, Sam, until the last 

Of the blood that 's in my breast. 
But ere you go, O hear to me, 

I have a slight request 
That you may grant and leave upon 

Your honor, not a stain ; 
Don't spoil my pretty castle, Sam, 

My castle in Old Spain. 

I 've held it long, through good and ill, 

Alternate hopes and fears ; 
I 've smiled to see those lofty towers, 

I 've washed them with my tears. 
Of boyhood's dreams but few are left, 

But this will aye remain, 
I love that castle ; 't is the best 

In all the land of Spain. 

And some who helped to build it up 
Have long since passed away ; 

And some from me are now estranged ; 
My hair is turning gray. — 



THE CASTLE IN SPAIN 145 

You '11 know it when you see it, Sam, 

It shines in sun or rain 
And orange groves encompass it — 

My castle in Old Spain. 

Dear Uncle Sam, your thund'ring guns 

When you your flag unfurl, 
Will spoil the only thing I have 

To give my little girl. 
I '11 fight for you till blood's last drop 

From this seared heart shall drain ; 
But do n't, dear Uncle Sam, do n't spoil 

My castle there in Spain. 



10 



The Princess and the Pauper 

BY MARSHAI.lv B. PEASI/EE 

Years, years ago when time was young, 

Ere yet the age grew dull, 
A lady lived whose praises rung 

As all 't was beautiful, 
A kindly heart she had, withal, 

With gen'rous gifts elate ; 
Her smile fast held the strong in thrall ; 

Her frown subdued the great. 
And one there was, beneath her far 

As earth beneath the sky 
Wliose reason with his heart at war, 

Caused him, reluctant, fly 
146 



THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER 147 

And far beneatli the Southern cross, 
While mad'ning mem'ries throng, 

To her, broad ocean's depth across, 
He poured his soul in song : 

'"When odors of the Southern breeze 

Perfume the ev'ning air, 
And song-birds in the lofty trees 

Make music heav'nly rare, 
Climatic charms come stealing from 

The whole horizon blue, — 
All these my ungrateful heart ignores — 

Remem' bring only you. 

; 'When night with sable wings has thrown 

Her mantle o'er the earth, 
New dreams of bliss, before unknown, 

In my rapt mind have birth. 
Time was, to me, when palaces 

Were wont, unbidden, rise 
And heights of grandeur, scaled with ease, 

Met my undazzled eyes ; 



148 THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER 

But happier now, e'en while asleep, 

My heart beats always true, 
It is enchanted ground I tread, 

I dream of only you. 

"When night her course has fully run 

And freshened nature wakes, 
And o'er the fragrant woods the sun 

His course, majestic, takes 
I wake from dreams that happy gods 

Might envy, were they true, 
And find, that waking, as asleep, 

I dream of only you. 

"Still dreams must all my comfort be; 

Be it mine to hide my heart, 
Though I know confession, full and free, 

Had been the manly part. 
I could not bear to feel your scorn, 

The boldest he, that quells ; 
I '11 school my heart of hope that 's shorne- 

It breaks — but never tells. ' ' 



THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER 149 

He closed his song and lived his life ; 

Forgotten is his name, 
And buried is his bosom's strife, 

And gone his life of pain. 
She never dreamed, in humble breast, 

There beat a heart of gold, 
That doted on her loveliness, 

That broke and never told. 



Ode to Daniel Webster 19 

BY REV. WII,I,IAM CAREY SHEPPARD 

fair New Hampshire's noblest sou, 
The mighty, glorious, and great, 
Most cherished of thy native State, 

The immortal aud the godlike one ! 

To thee we rear the modest token 

Of love and gratitude and praise, 

And offer speech and song and lays ; 

But speak and sing in accents broken. 
150 



ODE TO DANIEL WEBSTER 151 

We praise thee for thy strong right arm, 
On which the Nation leaned secure ; 
Thy heart so tender, fond, and pure, 

That loved her with a love so warm ; 

And for thy tongue so eloquent, 
And full of sweetest melody, 
Whose tones rang out from sea to sea, 

Enrapturing a continent. 

Thy hand Columbia's lyre swept o'er, 
And made all jarring notes agree ; 
Awoke the strains of liberty 

And unity for evermore. 

What though thy body 's by the sea, 
Beneath the Pilgrim's hallowed hill, 
Thou ever livest, livest still, 

Ensined in grate wful memory. 



152 ODE TO DANIEL WEBSTER 

Within thine arms the Nation lies ; 

Thy mighty heart-throbs yet she feels ; 

And as of old thy music peals 
Throughout the land, along the skies. 

Descend, ascend, ye cherubim, 
Upon the ladder of his glory, 
And bear aloft to God the story, 

Our thanksgiving for the gift of him — 

Him! him! Columbia's greatest son, 
The mighty, glorious, and grand, 
Most cherished of his native land, — 

The godlike and immortal one ! 



A Long Betrothment 

BY REV. WILLIAM CAREY SHEPPARD 

It was a score of years ago 
She gave me heart and hand, 

And made me then of all the men 
The gladdest in the land. 

We have been lovers ever since, 

With hearts as true as steel ; 

Our wedding-day is on its way — 

O for its bells to peal ! 
153 



154 A LONG BETROTHMENT 

A long betrothment? Yes, and yet 
It thrice as long may be. 

The hand she gave is in the grave 
Somewhere she waits for me ! 



June 

BY REV. WIIXIAM CAREY SHEPPARD 

Out on that ocean whose billows are roses, 
While robins, blithe sailors, are piping their 
tune, 
Along down the sunbeams, while angels stand 
watching, 
God lannches from heaven the fair ship of 
June. 

155 



Bloody Joe's Easter Celebration 

BY REV. WM. CAREY SHEPPARD 

Evek heard of Blood/ Joe — 
Northwest terror years ago? 
Long of hair an' big of frame, 
Hot of blood an' sure of aim ; 
Git a grudge agin a soul, 
Bore through him a bullet hole. 

"Wunst a parson come to town, 
Preachin' in a long, white gown ; 
Held his meetin's in a hall 
'Bove the place whar Sammy Small 
Sold the boys his liquid lire. 
'JSTough to make one a "live wire." 

Joe sez nex' day, with a sneer, 
"Do n't want no sky-pilots here ;" 
156 



BLOODY JOE'S EASTER CELEBRATION 157 

Also sez — I 'd best not tell 
(The last word, howe'er, was "hell.") 
An' resolved he 'd drive from town 
That thar priest in his white gown. 

"Wa-hoo! " shouted Joe one day, 
" Parson 's comin', so ther say, 
T'morrer 's Sunday, and he '11 preach, 
( Then Joe gave another screech ) ; 
Goin' ter meetin' with my gun — 
Watch out, boys, ye '11 see some fun. ' ' 

"Do n't intend to kill him though," 

To his cronies muttered Joe ; 

" 'Taint wuth while to lay him 'flat — 

I like bigger game 'n that. 

Just to skeer him — that enough ; 

Make him scamper — that 's the stuff." 

Sunday come. 'T was Easter, when 
Hope lights up the hearts of men. 
Songs, an' flowers, an' bunnets gay 
Make of it a right smart day ; 



158 BLOODY JOE'S EASTER CELEBRATION 

But in that tliar camp of vice 
Easter did n't cut much ice. 

Sunday come. The preacher stood 
On the platform, rough an' rude — 
Stood thar in his long white gown 
Tryin' to convart the town. 
Nigh a hundred was on hand 
Fer the fun that Joe had planned. 

In the middle of the speech 

In swung Joe with warlike screech, 

Flourishin' his gun on high 

Yery devil in his eye 

" Parson, guess your sermon 's done," 

So he cried. ' i Bang ! ' ' went his gun. 

Now, the preacher when he come 
Fetched a crucifix from home, 
Hung it on the wall in sight, 
Jest a lettle to his right, 
Picterin' the mighty love 
Of the God who lives above. 



BLOODY JOE'S EASTER CELEBRATION 159 

' ' Bang ! ' ' Off went the gun. The cross — 
How it seemed ter writhe and toss ! 
Then it dropped, — laid on the floor 
Like a wreck along the shore ; 
Fer Joe's wild an' random lead 
Struck, ye see, the thorn-crowned head. 

Thar was silence fer a space — 
White 's a spook the preacher's face. 
But he stood up like a man 
("Would n't blamed him if he 'd ran), 
Looked down at the crucifix, 
Lay in' thar, a heap of sticks. 

Then he looked at Bloody Joe, N 
"Who was tremblin' top ter toe ; 
Looked him right squar' in the eye 
With both hands a-raised on high ; 
Pumped his lungs plum full and roared, 
" You have shot the blessed Lord!" 

Joe turned purty quick and skipped, 
Not a blarsted word he yipped ; 



160 BLOODY JOE'S EASTER CELEBRATION 

An ? the preacher went right back, 
Shuffled once again his pack, 
Spoke his sermon to the end — 
He 'd made every man his friend. 

That same day the parson put 
Down the valley to Joe's hut; 
Found him meek as any lamb, 
Ate with him of eggs and ham. 
Then he settled down to biz 
An' Joe made some promises. 

Now f er three whole years in all 
Come the preacher to the hall. 
Others follered, an' to-day 
Stands a church acrost the way. 
Such the changes that Time deals 
Bloody Joe within it kneels. 



The Faithful Mother's Prayer 

BY MRS. ANNIE WII.KISON PEASI3E 

1 Father in heaven above, to Thee I come, 
In this mine hour of deepest grief and woe, 

And lift my humble voice in prayer to Thee, 
Who all the secrets of my being know. 

My sorely stricken spirit turns to Thee, 

My guide, my light, on all my darkened way, 

As turns the river, flowing to the sea, 

Its source of life, its home wherein to stay, 
Till called again to bless creation's grand array. 
11 161 



162 THE FAITHFUL MOTHER'S PRAYER 

'* Thou, who didst give to me a love supreme, 
For all the grandeur of Thy works, sublime, 

The hill, the mountain, vale and running stream, 
And wonders greater far revealed by time, 

And liberty of soul, O, Father, mine, 
And this, the dearest gift of all to me, 

To think, and act, and will, O gift divine ! 
And dream of heaven and perfect rest in Thee, 
When, from this care-worn life, in death 
I 'm free. 

" I do not ask for fame, tho' that were dear, 

Nor for long life, tho' that indeed, were sweet, 
Nor yet for death, tho' sweeter far, if near 

To me, who here can nought but sorrow meet ; 
But one there is that's bound — O, Father; 
bound, 

That 's dearer far than life or light to me ; 
O, let, I pray, Thy mercies him surround, 

And set, O set, his bondaged spirit free ; 

O, give him life of soul, sweet life, and liberty. 



THE FAITHFUL MOTHER'S PRAYER 163 

"Lord, grant me this, and I will strive to bear 

Whatever else, in mercy Thou dost send, 
And faith to feel that Thou wilt answer prayer, 
And save, and keep, the fallen to the end." 
Thus prayed the mother for th' inebriate son. 
O, bright her earnest prayer in heaven doth 
shine ! 
For, now, on Zion's hill, a stand he 's won, 
Proclaiming to the world Christ's love divine, 
And giving all his strength to quell the de- 
mon, "Wine. 

O, mothers of the hour, 't is wise, 't is just, 

While boldly stalks the demon through the 
land, 
That ye, who hold young souls in sacred trust, 

Should wield this power, this mighty magic 
wand; 
For tho' you never stand in Congress halls, 

Eor, with your voices, sway the great debate, 
Yet, still on you a wondrous duty falls,. 

A force, by which to guide the Ship of State. 

Then, rouse ye to the work before it is too late ! 



164 THE FAITHFUL MOTHER'S PRAYER 

The keeping of young souls in trust — God ! 
Alone, we shrink from this; with Thee 3 'tis 
bliss. 
Thou makest of "earth the foolish things," 
Thy rod, 
To work Thine ends for good, as now in this. 
Then, like this faithful mother, we would come, 
And lift up fervent hearts and hands to Thee, 
To crush the demon Wine, his offspring, Rum, 
And from this blighting curse our country free. 
O, give her sons, in thrall, the sweets of lib- 
erty ! 



My Picture 

BY MRS. ANNIE WII.KISON PEASIyEE 

I 've gazed upon wonderful paintings 
And pictures, so lovely and rare, 

But a little one hangs in my chamber, 
And nothing with it can compare. 

Tho' not for its wonderful blending 

In color, in art, or design, 
Do I prize it, and hold it far dearer, 

Than aught of the world that is mine. 
165 



166 MY PICTURE 

For 't is naught but a bit of rude paste-board, 
All penciled with scarcely a plan — 

But the little one said when he made it, 
" See, mamma! I 've made you a man." 

And as oft as I gaze on that picture, 

I think of the wonderful joy 
I then felt, as I pressed to my bosom 

My darling pet rogue of a boy, 

And praised up his dear little efforts, 
And told him I thought he would be 

As great as the wonderful artists, 
That dwell afar o'er the deep sea, 

But the visions of hope and of glory 
Have vanished, and left me no joy ; 

For I miss from my fireside, daily, 
My darling, my own precious boy. 

And a quiet now reigns in the household, 
A stillness throughout the whole day ; 

For the little one, always so restless, 
Now mingleth soft with the clay. 



MY PICTURE 16? 

And at night, as I sit in my chamber, 
So lonely, and wretched, and sad, 

And try to think over the mercies, 
And wonderful blessings I 've had, 

A spirit rebellious comes o'er me — 
For I can not see how it can be, 

When there 's so many waifs on life's ocean 
That he must be taken from me. 

But, then, as I think of the pathway, 
So slipp'ry and steep, and the snares, 

That the dear little feet must pass over, 
In climbing life's wonderful stairs, 

I kneel by the bed-side, submissive, 
And dream of his quiet and rest, 

And praise the dear Father in heaven, 
And feel that He truly knows best. 



The Village Church 

BY EDWARD S. PEASI,EE 

'T is Sabbath morn. The village bells have length- 
ened summons rung. 

Delightful to the heart devout as songs by angels 
sung; 

And worldly hearts, perchance, may feel some 
softened sense of care 

As incense-like the mellow notes float on the 
silent air. 

Arrayed in careful garb, at length a varied throng 

outpour 

From mansion of the village lord and cottage of 

the poor; 

168 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH 169 

And slow approach with sober step the sacred 

door swung wide, 
And enter with the silence of a river's gentle 

tide. 



The young, in merry mood, perchance, still loiter 
by the door, 

The elders find the pews they've loved there 
twenty years or more; 

But few within its walls forget decorum's strin- 
gent law, 

But move its hallowed aisles along in unfeigned 
pious awe. 



Here sable sorrow seeks for strength the flood of 
grief to stem, 

For still they joy who touch in faith His gar- 
ment's azure hem; 



170 THE VILLAGE CHURCH 

And fashion, too, comes in anon, self-centered, 

strong, and bold, 
And some are here, though reason why, perhaps, 

could not be told. 



The service pens. Lengthened prayer breaks up 

the hushed suspense; 
The stewards tiptoe down the aisles for doubtful 

recompense ; 

The sermon, slow and cold at first, soon glows 
with godly zeal; 

The deacons give a double weight to each well- 
sped appeal. 



Then follows feast ; than all the rest, to Christian 

heart more dear, 
Whereon e'en worldlings scarce may gaze without 

the rising tear; 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH 171 

A kindly invitation all receive who own His 

Word 
To come and taste in humble faith the substance 

of their Lord. 



Slight hesitation yields to love; forth pass the 

pious throng, 
While sweet as angels' morning chant ascends the 

solemn song; 
Around the altar hushed as night in humble form 

they kneel, 
And sipping of the sacred cup their hearts grow 

warm and leal. 



Again repeated, all at length the broken bread 

partake, 
In draught of consecrated cup, devotion's thirst 

they slake; 



172 THE VILLAGE CHURCH 

The pews replenish — silence fills the praise impreg- 
nate air, 

As if the mute assembly felt the Holy Presence 
there. 



But who in modest mien and garb, grim, aged, 
black, and poor, 

Sits where the roguish oft have held their feast of 
fun obscure? 

Bowed down with years, yet just her age the old- 
est can not say, 

For, as a full half century the same she looks 
to-day. 



But this who doubts that sees her swayed by 

sermon, song, and prayer: 
Blest are the aged limbs that aye faith's fadeless 

mantle wear, 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH 173 

Blest are the feet, howe'er infirm, that tread the 

path of truth, 
And passing eagle gaze to scan hope's boundless 

fields of youth? 



Adown the aisle with steady step, unswayed by 

servile fear, 
She seeks the second table of the loved One of 

Judea ; 
Yet not a lonely guest she kneels beside the altar 

stair, 
None hear her heartfelt song of praise but feel 

her Lord is there. 



O Christian type ! no worldly show adorns her 

aged form, 
But Christian love from welling heart forth gushes 

full and warm: 



174 THE VILLAGE CHURCH 

No circumspection strains her act, no art directs 

her word, 
Self-thoughtless as the Syrian babes she glorifies 

her Lord. 



We may not know what motive led the mass to 

church to-day, 
Or was it pleasure, pride, or praise, or habit's 

potent sway ; 
We may not know what hearts there beat in unison 

with prayer, 
Nor which of all the needy souls found manna 

fallen there. 



We may not know if some there felt the pangs of 

fear or shame, 
On whom descended, as of old, the pentecostal 

flame ; 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH 175 

We may not know, decorum's mask hides many a 

wayward thought, 
And smiles that mark no inward grace may seem 

divinely wrought. 

But when the parting multitude their various ways 

return, 
Who doubts that in one heart at least faith's spices 

sweetly burn; 
Or that her cabin rude and lone the splendor holds 

of noon, 
And glows with sunny genial warmth that shames 

the glow of June? 



Memories of Boyhood 

BY EDWARD S. PE)ASI«EE 

When ruthless duty presses hard, and life is 

fraught with ills, 
I haste me to my boyhood home among the Essex 

hills, 
I hear again the song of birds in old ancestral 

trees, 
And mellow low of distant kine borne on the 

balmy breeze. 



The hills look down with welcome gaze, the church, 

too, at their base, 

Whose heaven stretched arm and face serene were 

silent means of grace ; 
176 



MEMORIES OF BOYHOOD 177 

The orchard blossoms scent the air, old scenes de- 
light the eye, 

And over all in tender love low stoops the sum- 
mer sky. 



The brook that bathes my father's farm, the mill- 
dam's distant roar, 

The lake and its alluring boats, the miller's busy 
door, 

The river's marge I helped to mow, the hay-cart's 
spreading frame, 

The sultry hay-mow's dizzy loft that types the 
heights of fame, — 



How rapid memory calls them back ! My heart is 

pressed with joy, 
For depths of rapture now I feel, I felt not when 

a boy, 

12 



178 MEMORIES OF BOYHOOD 

And memory keeps the twin graves fresh, though 

twenty years have flown, 
And culls with tender touch the pinks the hand 

of love has sown. 

O brook that bounds my father's farm, though 
years and miles from thee, 

More sweet than when a romping boy, thy song 
still comes to me ! 

O bridge that spans the sylvan stream, my moth- 
er's love and mine, 

O'er thee on fancy's foot I pass the stream of 
u Auld Lang Syne!" 



O rustic road and shady path where oft I loved to 

stray, 
More plain to me thy windings are than those I 

tread to-day ! 



MEMORIES OF BOYHOOD 179 

For then I lived with thee alone ; my brothers were 
the trees, 

The brooks and birds and grassy slopes, the sun- 
light and the breeze. 



Though other hands now till the soil, the same dear 
forms I see — 

Parental voices greet my ear and old time child- 
ish glee ; 

Still follow the meandering path the cows I called 
my own, 

The petted kitten naps and wakes upon the old 
hearthstone. 



Still lives the horse that patient drudged the long- 
est summer-day, 

Yet showed the pride of gentle blood upon the 
broad highway; 



180 MEMORIES OF BOYHOOD 

And oft I hear the yeomen round in careless pos- 
ture ranged, 

Lament the sturdy days of old for later times ex- 
changed. 



Deprive me, Fortune, if thou wilt, of every other 

joy, 

But ofttimes let me tread the paths that knew me 

when a hoy ; 
Let memory give the burdened heart repose from 

present care, 
And seek the sunny land of youth, its meadows 

fresh and fair. 



t 



NOTES 



Note 1, p. 15. — Frederick Gano Hunt, the young man to 
whom reference is made in this poem, is the son of 
the late Col. William L. Hunt of this city, and, on 
his mother's side, a descendant of General John S. 
Gano, one of the first thirty-three settlers of Cincin- 
nati, and a general in the War of 1812, Fred, is a 
cousin of the late Mrs. Peaslee. 

Note 2, p. 19. — The writing of these verses was suggested 
by reading the following statement of General Ben- 
jamin Harrison when President: "The American 
Flag should wave from every school-house in the 
land." The prose introduction and the verses are 
intended for a school declamation. It is suggested 
that a pupil recite the introduction and the first and 
second stanzas, and that the entire class recite the 
last stanza. 

This piece was set to music by Mr. W. T. Porter, 
attorney-at-law, of this city, and published by White- 
Smith Music Publishing Company, of Boston, New 
York, and Chicago; afterwards, by Prof. John A. 
Yoakley, of this city, and published in sheet form by 
George B. Jennings Company, of Cincinnati ; and la- 
ter by Prof. Joseph Surdo, one of the music teachers 
in the public schools of this city, and published by 
181 



182 NOTES 

the Groene Music Publishing Company, of Cincin- 
nati, and was sung, Prof. Surdo directing, by 3,000 
public-school children at the National German Saen- 
gerfest, held in Cincinnati, July 1st, 1899. 

Note 3, p. 21.— "The Heroes Who Rest" was written to 
the tune of Portuguese Hymn, in the National Military 
Cemetery, Chattanooga, Tenn., was set to a new tune 
by Mr. W. T. Porter, and published by the White- 
Smith Publishing Company. On Decoration-day, 
1896, it was sung in Cincinnati Music Hall by fifteen 
hundred school children. 

Note 4, p. 23. — Mr. Adolph Strauch, in his time one of 
the greatest landscape gardners in America, was for 
many years Superintendent of Spring Grove Ceme- 
tery. He originated the " park plan" for cemeteries 
and made Spring Grove the first park cemetery of 
the world. To his skill Clifton, Eden Park, and other 
places in and about Cincinnati, owe much of their 
present beauty. Besides, his influence was felt in all 
parts of this, and in other countries. 

In the Spring of 1883, Dr. Adolph Leue and my- 
self went to Spring Grove to invite Mr. Strauch to 
meet us on the following Saturday in "Author's 
Grove," in Eden Park, in order to show us where a 
few more trees should be planted to give the best 
landscape effect. [ Authors' Grove contains about six 
acres in forest trees planted and dedicated to Ameri- 
can authors by the public-school children of Cincin- 
nati, each school its special group, under my direc- 
tion as Superintendent of Schools, at the tree-plant- 
ing festival on Ohio's first Arbor-day, April 27th, 1882.] 



NOTES 183 

Mr. Strauch agreed to meet us, but before the ap- 
pointed time he was stricken with apoplexy that re- 
sulted in his death. 

At that interview Mr. Strauch asked me to write 
a magazine article giving an account of his trials and 
experiences during the first years of his superintend- 
ency of Spring Grove. He stated that as soon as he 
began, in 1854, to take away the iron fences that sur- 
rounded many of the lots, and to remove some of the 
graves in order to form artificial lakes and to other- 
wise beautify the grounds after the " park plan," as 
he called it, the Cincinnati papers violently attacked 
him, and that he received a number of letters threat- 
ening his life. He also stated that he had kept the 
letters and copies of the papers and would turn them 
over to me at the meeting in Author's Grove. I 
agreed to prepare the article but his unfortunate 
sickness and death frustrated our plans, and the ar- 
ticle was never written, but in part fulfillment of 
that promise these verses were written. At this 
meeting Mr. Strauch translated for Dr. Leue and 
myself that part of the report of the French Com- 
missioners appointed by the French Government to 
visit and report upon all the important parks and 
cemeteries of the world, which related to Spring 
Grove. In this report the French Commissioners 
gave Spring Grove the preference over all other cem- 
eteries. This justifies the line, "The most beautiful 
of Earth." 

May I hope that these simple verses may serve in 
some degree to keep in grateful remembrance the 



184 NOTES 

distinguished services which Mr. Strauch rendered 
his city and country. In my opinion, the names of 
Adolph Strauch and Col. George Ward Nichols, men 
who have done so much to refine and elevate our 
people, should be held in as much esteem and be 
named in the same category with those of "Woodward, 
Hughes, McMicken, Springer, Sinton, West, Long- 
worth, Probasco, Hanna, Groesbeck, Schmidlapp, 
Brown, Kilgour, Thorns, Cunningham, Van Bibber, 
Procter, and other great souled personages who have 
given of their wealth to advance the interests of Cin- 
cinnati. 

Note 5, p. 26. — Just after the death of Hon. Charles 
Eeemelin, who was a member of the convention that 
framed the present constitution of Ohio, and to whose 
sagacity and remarkable knowledge of governments 
the Ohio Constitution owes many of its most impor- 
tant provisions, I wrote and published " In Memo- 
riam," a poem on Mr. Reemelin. These verses given 
here are not mine, except in sentiment and state- 
ment of facts. Mr. Alfred F. Hoffmann, of this city, 
re-wrote my verses in a different meter, and his 
words are published here. 

Note 6, p. 28.— In 1897, 1 think it was, Mr. David H. Lyon, 
a member of Hanselmann Commandery of Knights 
Templars, of which I was at the time Prelate, and 
a friend of mine, and also Mr. Julius P. Carpen- 
ter, a member of Covington Commandery, were 
struck unawares by a railroad train and killed in- 
stantly. Upon reading the account of the terrible 
accident, whereby the lives of two excellent men 



NOTES 185 

were lost, I wrote these lines on the border of the 
newspaper containing the account. 

Note 7, p. 30.— In explanation of these lines I have to say 
that one of the daily papers of this city offered a 
prize of fifty dollars for the best design for a flag or 
banner for Cincinnati, and a committee of prominent 
citizens was appointed to decide to whom the prize 
should be awarded. At the first meeting the com- 
mittee, after having examined all the designs sent in, 
adjourned without coming to a final decision, but af- 
ter a few days it met again and made its award. In 
the meantime opposition to the city's adopting a 
special flag or banner was made by those who thought 
" Old Glory " was sufficient for all purposes. The ex- 
citement ran high for a few days and all the daily pa- 
pers took a lively part in the discussion. These 
verses were written for one of the papers that op- 
posed the new banner, but were withdrawn from 
publication out of fear that the designer might not 
take them in the spirit of pleasantry in which they 
were intended. They are now given to the public for 
the first time. Of course, I disclaim any intention 
of casting reflection upon the design which is indeed 
very beautiful, and which reflects great credit upon 
the designer. 

In reference to the peculiar use of the letter 
"a" with a participle, see Webster. 

Note 8, p. 32.— These verses, entitled "In Memoriam," 
were written at the grave in Spring Grove Cemetery 
on the first anniversary of the death of my dearly be- 
loved wife, Mrs. Lou Wright Peaslee, daughter of 



186 NOTES 

Hon. Joseph F. "Wright and Mary Gano Wright. Mrs. 
Peaslee died July 18th, 1894. 

Note 9, p. 39. — This sacred song, "The Precious Mine," 
was written at the request of Dr. E. Trumbull Lee, 
former pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, of 
Cincinnati, and sung by choir and congregation at 
the close of a series of Sunday evening lectures in 
which the doctor made use, symbolically, of the dif- 
ferent terms and operations employed in reference 
to mines and mining. 

Let me say here that the first hymn in this book, 
"Converted to Jesus," was written for, and sung on, 
the occasion of my baptism and admission to mem- 
bership in the Mt. Auburn Presbyterian Church, of 
this city, in April, 1894. It was written to tune of 
" Portuguese Hymn," but a new tune has since been 
set to the words by George C. Kersey, of Kentucky, 
and published by the John Church Company, Cincin- 
nati, New York, and Chicago, in a Sunday-school 
book entitled "Uplifting Songs." This was my first 
attempt in writing verse. 

Note 10, p. 41. — "The Christian's Hope" was written 
July 18th, 1896, the second anniversary of the death of 
my wife, and was addressed to her, but I afterwards 
changed it to a hymn. The piece was set to music by 
Prof. George C. Kersey, but so far as I know, it has 
never been published. It was also set to music by 
Prof. Theodore Meyder, First German Assistant in the 
Public Schools of Cincinnati. This hymn and "The 
Precious Mine" were sung at the Ordination of El- 
ders in the Immanuel Presbyterian Church, Clifton, 



NOTES 18? 

Cincinnati, November 22nd, 1896, having been selected 
for the occasion by Dr. Norton of the University of 
Cincinnati. 

Note 11, p. 43. — One Sunday evening, after the Church 
services, Dr. E. Trumbull Lee handed me a leaflet 
containing the titles of six Sunday evening lectures 
to be given on subjects taken from Bunyan's "Pil- 
grim's Progress," and said: "Here are the subjects 
of my lectures. I want you to write a hymn on any 
one of them you may select, to be sung at the close 
of the series." I selected " Christian " as my subject 
and wrote the words to the tune " Seeking for Me," 
by Bliss, and entitled the piece "Mansions Above." 
It was printed by Dr. Lee in the Church Bulletin, and 
sung by choir and congregation. Desiring to make 
the words general in their application, so as to apply 
to all Christians, I re-wrote them and produced the 
next hymn in this book, entitled " Beautiful Shore." 
This latter poem was set to music by Mr. W. T. Porter 
and published in sheet form by the George B. Jen- 
nings Co., Cincinnati, O. Prof. Theodore Meyder 
also wrote music for the words, but it was never 
published. 

Note 12, p. 53. — After listening to a sermon in Christie 
Chapel (Methodist) on the text, "Suffer little 
children to come unto Me," the manufacturer, Mr. 
James M. Robinson, at the time a member with me 
of the Board of Directors of the University of Cincin- 
nati, said: "Mr. Peaslee, I think the words of the 
text to-night, ' Suffer little children to come unto 
Me/ would make a fine subject for a hymn or Sun- 



188 NOTES 

day-school song. I wish you would see what you can 
do." On returning home that Sunday evening, I im- 
mediately sat down and wrote these verses, following 
as near as possible the words of Scripture. This 
piece and the following pieces, "The Christian's 
Faith," "Precious Words," "In Thine Own Way," 
and " We Reap as We Sow," are published for the 
first time in this volume. A few of my friends have 
manuscript copies, but that is all that has ever been 
done with them. 

Note 13, p. 57. — "The Gates Ajar" was suggested by a 
line in the poem of my sister Mary, published here, 
entitled "Down by the Bars." Both "The Gates 
Ajar" and "Down by the Bars" have been set to 
music by Prof. John A. Yoakley, and published in 
sheet form by George B. Jennings Company. Mr. 
W. T. Porter also wrote music to " The Gates Ajar." 

Note 14, p. 107. — Kenoza Lake, to which reference is here 
made, is located near the city of Haverhill, Mass., 
and not far from the birthplace of the poet Whittier. 
It was formerly called "Great Pond," or "Pickerel 
Pond." At the time the name was changed a great 
celebration took place at which Whittier read a beau- 
tiful poem written by him expressly for the occasion. 

Note 15, p. 113.— At this celebration my sister Ida was 
the orator of the day. " The oration was listened to 
with the closest attention, her eloquence and prac- 
tical remarks meeting universal approval." 

This "liberty tree," which has grown and flour- 
ished, and whose wide-spreading branches have given 
grateful shade, not only to the generation that 



NOTES 189 

planted it, but to another generation, was dedicated 
to the women of 1975. 

As a part of the dedicatory exercises a letter 
which is carefully preserved in the town safe with 
other town records, and which was written by Mrs. 
Gardner and signed by all the ladies who took part 
in the planting, was read. 

The exercises were closed by singing the " Cen- 
tennial Hymn," written by Mrs. Gardner to the mu- 
sic of "America," by the trio, Mrs. Lloyd, Miss Anna 
Noyes, and Mrs. Thomas J. Nichols. 
Note 16, p. 115.— " The Dedication of the Flag" was writ- 
ten for, and read by, the author, on the occasion of 
the acceptance and public dedication of a large silk 
flag and flag-pole, 125 feet high, presented to the Vil- 
lage Improvement Society of Plaistow, N. H., by Mr. 
Arthur G. Pollard, a native of the town, but now a 
wealthy merchant of Lowell, Mass. Mr. Pollard has 
made a number of valuable presents to his native 
town and has beautified the " Old Common," which 
is now called " Pollard's Square," in honor of Plais- 
tow's greatest benefactor. 



"Centennial Hymn" was written expressly for 
the celebration of the planting of a beautiful elm-tree 
in the "Old Common," now "Pollard's Square," 
June 17th, 1875, the anniversary of the battle of 
Bunker Hill, by the ladies of Plaistow who were 
members of the Village Improvement Society. 
Note 17, p. 119.— This historical house was built in 
early colonial days by Joseph Peaslee, Jr., a physi- 



190 NOTES 

cian and large landholder of Haverhill, Mass. The 
tablet placed on the old elm-tree to the left of the 
door at the time of the 250th anniversary (1890) of 
the settlement of Haverhill reads : " Garrison-House. 
Built of bricks brought from England by Joseph 
Peaslee, Jr., prior to 1690." 

The house was constructed to serve as a private 
dwelling and as a fort to protect the early settlers 
against the Indians. To this house the people of 
Haverhill fled for shelter at the time Hannah Dustin 
was carried away by the Indians, and also during the 
French and Indian War. In it the great-grand- 
mother of the poet Whittier, who was the daughter 
of Joseph Peaslee, Jr., spent her childhood and youth. 

Joseph Peaslee, of whom Joseph, Jr., was the only 
son, the ancestor of the Peaslees of this country, 
came, with his wife, Mary, from England, and settled 
in Newbury, Mass., in 1635. He, with Thomas Whit- 
tier, ancestor of the poet, laid out the town of Haver- 
hill, and in 1645, removed to that place. In his re- 
ligious convictions he differed from the doctrines of 
the Established Church, and was known as a " Come- 
outer. He began to preach before George Fox, the 
founder of the Society of Friends (or Quakers as they 
are usually called) commenced to proclaim his doc- 
trines. The General Court decreed that he should 
be fined five shillings every time he "exhorted the 
people;" and, also, he should be fined five shillings 
every time he failed to attend the Established 
Church. Soon after Fox began to preach Joseph 
Peaslee embraced his doctrines and became an en- 
thusiastic follower of Fox. 



NOTES 191 

In 1652 he and Thomas Marcy were arrested by 
order of the General Court for "exhorting on the 
Lord's Day" and deprived of their "rights as free- 
men," notwithstanding the fact that the "exhort- 
ing" took place in their own residences. Indeed, the 
first Quaker meetings in New England were held at 
the residence of Joseph Peaslee. 

In the same year "Thomas Whittier," to whom 
reference has been made, though not a Quaker, " was 
among the petitioners to the General Court for the 
pardon of Eobert Pike, who had been fined heavily for 
speaking against the order prohibiting the Quakers, 
Joseph Peaslee and Thomas Marcy, from exhorting 
on the Lord's Day. A committee of that body was 
appointed to wait upon the petitioners and command 
them to withdraw it or suffer the consequences. 
Some of them did retract; but two of the sixteen 
who refused were Thomas Whittier and Christopher 
Hussey, both of them ancestors of the poet. . . . 
His [Thomas Whittier's] youngest son, Joseph — 
through whom we trace the poet's lineage — married 
Mary Peaslee, granddaughter of Joseph Peaslee, the 
leading Quaker in town and one of the exhorters for 
whom Thomas Whittier asked in vain the clemency of 
the General Court forty-two years earlier." — Life and 
Letters of John Greenleaf Whittier, by Samuel Pickard. 

" In this alliance with the family of a well-known 
Quaker we recognize one of the influences which led 
the Whittiers to the New Communion." — John Green- 
leaf Whittier: a Biography, by Francis H. Underwood. 
Note 18, p. 119.— These two pieces of father's are the 



192 NOTES 



only poems of his that I have been able to obtain. 
They are by no means among the best of his poetical 
writings. When a young man he wrote quite exten- 
sively and kept for many years a book of manuscript 
poems which he intended to publish, but which was, 
unfortunately, destroyed by fire. Father received 
the personal congratulations of the poet Fitz Greene 
Halleck on a New Year's poem written for the bene- 
fit of the newsboys of New York, while a resident of 
the city. 
Note 19, p. 150. — On the occasion of unveiling the statue 
of Daniel Webster in the State-house grounds, at 
Concord, N. H., Rev. Mr. Sheppard read this poem 
on invitation of the Committee of Arrangements, 
who had selected it as the best poem written for the 
occasion. 



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